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  • Countdown to Day Zero

    Countdown to Day Zero

    It’s the first day of the fortnight that would lead us into the end of the first half of 2025, going by Calendar months. And just like that, the second half of the year is about to begin (for those who do the traditional countdown)!

    I woke up with a nudge to do the write-thing but setting up this blog took the most of my creative juices and now I’m only continuing to type because I had set out to write. (Sigh)! I have zero recollection, unfortunately, of what I had originally set out to write.

    Note to self: Always put pen to paper, and gather your thoughts before you come online

    I do remember though, that I was triggered by the high cost of depression, in the same way regular people are triggered by the high cost of living in the current economy.

    Listen! Depression is expensive!

    I digress…

    The differentiation between neurotypical individuals (regular folk) and those who are neurodivergent is quite interesting because it is subtle. It is not loud but deeply meaningful. Once you begin to recognize those nuances, it’s like tuning into a different frequency of human behavior, communication, and perception.

    Recently, I found myself attuned to these subtle distinctions thanks to a few conversations and events that I’ve been privy to – which have helped to peel back a layer of my understanding.

    It’s funny how much more nuanced perception becomes the moment you garner more information. You not only see differences; but also start to appreciate the why behind them. What once seemed like a tangent now feels like a different line of reasoning altogether; equally valid, and often just as profound.

    In a world quick to pathologize divergence, learning to pause and really notice is a radical act of empathy. One that changes how you listen, respond, and relate not just to others, but to yourself. This isn’t about labeling or categorizing people. It’s about understanding that there are multiple operating systems in the human experience, and not one of them is inherently defective. It forces us to appreciate the concept of individual differences.

    Some minds may prioritize structure. Others, connection. Some may process detail in a flood. Others, in fine-tuned channels. These differences aren’t just cognitive, they’re experiential. They shape how people are in the world.

    Take conversation, for instance. A neurotypical person might read between the lines, navigating social cues almost subconsciously. A neurodivergent person may take words at face value, and most likely notice details in tone or pacing that others miss entirely. What feels like a tangent to one may be a perfectly logical continuation to another. The gap isn’t in intelligence or value – it’s in perception. It’s in the framework. The OS of the human mind (LOL).

    Truth is, once you begin to recognize that framework, the world opens up. You start noticing not just how people behave, but why. You develop a kind of compassionate curiosity. You stop assuming effort always looks one way. You begin to understand that what may seem small to you might feel enormous to someone else and vice versa.

    That awareness doesn’t make you an expert. But it does make you softer. Less certain. And that’s not a bad place to be. Because the more we allow space for different ways of thinking, the more humane our interactions become. We move away from judgment and closer to understanding.

    The light that gets shed doesn’t always come from big revelations. Sometimes, it comes from a single sentence that makes you pause. A moment of unexpected clarity in a conversation. A sense that what you thought you knew might only be part of the picture. And in that pause – Liiiiisssstttteeeeenn – in that noticing, something beautiful happens. Your perception doesn’t just change, it deepens.

    I will have to come back to the crux of the matter, and do the write-thing about “The Cost of Depression“, at a later time, seeing as this preamble has taken Mee off on a tangent.

    To quote one of my faves when it comes to narratives, individual differences, and our perceptions. “There are three sides to a coin: the head, the tail, the curved edge”

  • Tribute to a Beloved Father: A Lasting Legacy

    Dr. Olu Akinkoye. Sir ‘Koye. Daddy Bodija aka Baba (Baba pronounced ray-ray)

    When I visited in May, something in me knew it was the last time I would see you. Yet, when the news came, three weeks ago today, almost to the hour, the finality hit Mee in ways that I was neither prepared for nor capable of anticipating.

    Death is so final. So, so final.
    And nothing prepares us for the death of a loved one, not even a long, protracted illness that quietly warns you of what’s coming.

    How does one capture the essence of a man like you, in words, on paper?

    I had the rare privilege of having two involved, present fathers in my lifetime: each unique, each complex, each shaping me in different ways. And you, Baba, were one of them.

    When my mom travelled to Saudi Arabia for work, we were entrusted into your care. Even though you were away in Kuru Jos, you made sure we were fine while we stayed in your home at 60 Adebajo Str. And Aunty Tolani, God bless her, was such a steady hand in those days. Dropping us off at school prior to going off to work. “I have a million-and-one things to do today”, was her constant mantra as she hurried us to get into the car every morning.

    When my dad went to join my mom in Saudi, and we were back home, I remember so clearly when I had malaria and stubbornly refused to take medication. I hated meds. The driver and house help tried everything. Nothing worked. When they finally called you, you came over to the house and asked me a simple question: Why won’t you take the medicine? I had no real answer. Just the childish belief that I’d get better without it. And you, unlike everyone else, said they should let me be. The faith you had in me made me will and pray myself back to health. Even then, you trusted me in ways I didn’t yet know how to trust myself.

    When I began writing entrance exams into secondary school, choosing a school became its own drama because I kept passing every exam. We wanted a particular school; Babzidee insisted on Kaduna. You, ever the strategist, quietly advised me not to do too well on the last exam… just so I wouldn’t get shipped off to the North. It was a successful coup. One of our inside jokes.

    By the time I finished secondary school, I was unraveling inside. University frightened me in ways I couldn’t explain. I was battling an identity and existential crisis so deep that I didn’t even know what name I wanted to bear. Yet, I got into UI to study Medicine; and although everyone saw it as a great achievement, I was troubled, petrified, and … deeply miserable.

    In my second year, the weight was unbearable. I wanted to quit school completely and learn a trade. By my third year, I’d stopped attending classes altogether. I ran off to Lagos, hiding from expectations and from myself. When you heard, you called me and asked me to meet you at home, and drove my brother and I to Ibadan Recreation Club.

    You didn’t judge me. You didn’t shame me. You didn’t scold me. You simply asked: “What do you want to do?” I told you I wanted to learn IT, maybe run a cybercafé… and work with my hands. You asked if I’d be okay watching my friends graduate as medical doctors while I became a tradesperson. I told you the truth that I would be far more miserable if I became a medical doctor, without giving myself a chance to explore anything else I could become.

    After going back and forth, you told me something that has shaped my entire life: “University education is to train the mind. It is better to have a degree you don’t need than to need a degree you don’t have.” Those words… saved me. They guided me. They freed me. That same day at Rec, over drinks and snacks, you then asked me which course I wanted to study instead. I had taken an elective in Psychology in my first year as a Physiology student, and my interest was piqued by some of Jaco’s Psychology textbooks that were in the house, so I said “Psychology”.

    As a Sociology lecturer in the Faculty of the Social Sciences at the time, you asked why Psychology and not Sociology? You asked what I intended to do with it and how I would make money as an adult. I did not have any clear answers. I just knew changing to Psychology was a compromise I was willing to make if I had to stay in the university and graduate. You asked me to be sure I wouldn’t regret it. You made me think, reflect, and own my decision.

    And behind the scenes, you quietly facilitated my transfer to The Department of Psychology. When the Faculty of Medicine refused to release me, we made it a prayer point. I was eventually signed out of Medicine on my 21st birthday, the best birthday gift I got that year. When I left home on the eve of my 22nd birthday with nothing but faith, fear, and determination, you asked how I intended to survive. You supported me financially, not for comfort, but so I wouldn’t end up dependent on men or compromising myself just to stay afloat.

    After graduation, when I kept passing aptitude tests but failing interviews, you never left my side. You cut out job postings from newspapers, shared referrals, and guided my research.
    You eventually pointed me to the Accenture recruitment that changed my life.

    When my sister passed in 2013, it was you who called me. “Bisola is dead, get yourself together, I have asked your uncle to bring you to Ibadan”. You made arrangements for me to travel to Ibadan. You handled the burial. All I had to do was buy the wreathe. And when I was still trying to breathe through the shock, you simply said, “It’s all sorted.”

    You were a father. A friend. A counsellor. A covering. A pillar. A safe place.

    You were the angel assigned to the Akinkoye and Adewole households.

    There are too many memories to count. Too many moments your wisdom and presence held us all together. And now, here I am, writing a tribute I pray somehow finds its way to where you are. I don’t know if the dead read tributes. But I know that gratitude echoes.
    And love endures. So here I am, doing my characteristic “write-thing”. There’s little else that I can do now.

    Adieu Baba.
    Ailegesin. Alaragbaida. Jinewooro.

    Olugbemija Akinfe Akinkoye.
    Rest well, sir.
    Thank you for everything.

  • Before the Miracle: The Weight of Instruction

    Before the Miracle: The Weight of Instruction

    When Obedience Speaks and Disobedience Echoes

    Persie Williams

    Nov 05, 2025

    A couple of days ago, on Sunday, I sat in church listening to a woman sh-AIR her testimony.
    She spoke with a trembling kind of gratitude, the kind that lets you know the story could easily have ended differently.

    In prayer, she had heard a clear instruction from God.
    No drama. No theatrics. Just a quiet nudge ~ “Do this. Now.”
    An instruction that she thankfully obeyed.
    And the result of that obedience became the miracle she came to testify about.

    As a church, we celebrated; we smiled heartily, and clapped with fervor.

    But as she spoke, something in her story struck me like a whisper with a sharp edge.
    It cut deeply enough to sit with Mee hours later, piercing my soul in the process.

    Specific actions trigger specific outcomes.

    Her obedience opened the door to life, literally.
    Had she hesitated or ignored that prompting, her story might not have been a testimony.
    In her own words, disobedience could have cost her life.

    And in that moment, a sobering thought settled in my spirit:

    We celebrate testimonies of obedience,
    but we rarely stop to imagine
    the silent consequences of disobedience.

    We love the glory of the miracle,
    but not the weight of the instruction that preceded it.

    It then dawned on Mee, albeit painfully, as one who questions God A LOT, that if she had died,
    people would have gathered and asked questions of God.
    Some would have cried, “Lord, why?”
    Others might have whispered accusations,
    judging Him unfaithful because the ending didn’t look like victory.

    Yet they would never know the missing verse in the story.
    The instruction that could have preserved.
    The answer that came before the danger.
    The still small voice we sometimes treat as optional.

    Kabiyesi.
    The unquestionable One.

    The supernatural begins where human ability ends.
    But sometimes the supernatural begins earlier … way earlier : )
    It begins right at the point where we choose to obey a whisper that makes no sense.

    We enjoy testimonies of obedience.
    We seldom acknowledge the invisible mercies that cushion our disobedience #sigh
    the miracles that never materialized,
    the harm we narrowly escaped without knowing,
    the cycles we could have shortened but didn’t,
    the peace we forfeited because we hesitated.

    And yet…

    God remains faithful.
    Not because we get it right every time,
    but because faithfulness is who He is #Selah
    …not a reward for our perfection.

    Grace covers our stumbles.
    Mercy keeps watch when discernment fails.
    Love holds us steady, even when we drag our feet.

    He preserves.
    He guides.
    He waits.
    He redirects.
    He rescues, sometimes silently.

    Not because we always listen,
    but because He cannot deny Himself.

    Kabiyesi.
    Unquestionable.
    Unchanging.
    Still faithful.
    Always faithful.

    May we honor His whispers.
    May we not romanticize testimonies so much
    that we forget the obedience that birthed them.
    And may we never take lightly the quiet instructions
    that carry life, protection, alignment, and grace.

  • The Power of a Single Conversation: How My Uncle Changed My Career Path

    There are moments that quietly redirect the course of our lives, not with grand gestures, but with simple words spoken at the right time. For me, that moment came in the year 2000, during one of the most uncertain seasons of my youth.

    I was standing at a crossroads, convinced I had lost my way. As a child, I had dreamt of becoming a medical doctor. It was all I ever wanted. But when I finally got into medical school, I realized it wasn’t for me. The only problem was, I had been so laser-focused for so long that I never considered alternate paths.

    So, in my naïveté and frustration, I decided to quit school altogether and learn a trade. After all, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs did (haha) although they left Ivy League halls with purpose and privilege I didn’t yet understand.

    That’s when my uncle, who also doubled as “Dad” stepped in. Sir Koye listened patiently, then shared a line that would stay with me for decades:

    “It’s better to have a degree you don’t need than to need a degree you don’t have.”

    At the time, it felt like tough love. But 25 years later, as a Black woman living and working in North America, I’ve learned how deeply true those words were. Education, structure, and resilience have shaped not just my career but my character.

    Looking back now, I realize that moment wasn’t just about staying in school: it was about being seen, guided, and grounded when I couldn’t see the road ahead. Mentorship isn’t about having all the answers; it’s about offering perspective when someone else’s world feels small.

    Sir Koye’s words became a compass shaping how I lead, how I listen, and how I advocate for mental health and personal growth.

    ✨ To every mentor, leader, and parent:
    Please, keep showing up. Create safe spaces where young adults can question, doubt, dream, and redefine success without shame or fear.

    Because sometimes, all it takes is one conversation, one sentence, or one person who believes in you to change everything.

    Written by Persie Williams
    Product Owner | Business Systems Analyst | Mental Health Advocate | Storyteller passionate about doing the write-thing

    #Mentorship #Leadership #MentalHealth #CareerJourney #GrowthMindset #PeopleFirst #Inspiration #Gratitude #Storytelling #DoingTheWriteThing

    #Psychology #YoungProfessionals #Inspiration #CareerDevelopment #Gratitude #Mentorship #Leadership #CareerJourney #GrowthMindset #PeopleFirst #YoungProfessionals #Inspiration #CareerDevelopment #Gratitude

  • 🌍 Go(ing) Ye – Beyond Churchian Cool

    ✍🏽 Somewhere between “doing church” and “being Christ,” we lost the plot and the light.

    This week’s reflection isn’t for the faint of faith.
    It’s a gentle re-mind-er (and re-flect-ion) to Go(ye) beyond comfort, beyond cool, beyond churchian performance.

    Because salt doesn’t apologize for being salty,
    and light doesn’t dim to be polite. 💡✨

    Read on. Reflect deep.
    And maybe, just maybe ~ shine louder.

    Go Ye

    The instruction was clear.
    When the Father said, “Go ye,” He didn’t add, “when convenient,” or “once the Wi-Fi is strong.”

    The interpretation may be subjective but the instruction is unchanging, regardless of our personal biases, personalities, culture, upbringing, nature, nurture and every excuse in the books.

    Yet here we are …
    A world of politically correct Christians,
    where being liked matters more than being light.

    Funny thing though: on social-media streets, everyone’s a “God lover” or “child of grace.”
    (End-times LinkedIn bio, anyone?)

    When I was growing up, people struggled to identify with the Church or with God.
    Now? Being churchian is cool. Needless to say, times have changed.
    #Times #Seasons #Ceasings

    But here’s the crux and the CROSS of the matter:
    We were called to follow Christ,
    not the Church,
    not the crowd,
    and definitely not the charismatic personality behind the pulpit.

    You can’t be a Follower of Christ and not reflect Him.

    As salt and light, our influence is imminent,
    our impact inevitable.
    It’s spiritual physics.

    When Moses went up the mountain,
    he came down glow-rious.

    The Israelites couldn’t even look at him.
    bruh, he literally wore light.

    That’s what happens when you encounter God : )
    He leaves evidence on your face.
    You shine what you’ve seen.

    So when people say,
    “This is who I am,” or
    “That’s just how I am,”
    I often wonder … … …

    Who defined that “I”?

    Because if blind Bartimaeus hadn’t found his shout,
    he’d have stayed blind. I digress.
    But do I, really?

    Maybe I’m just tired.
    Tired of Christians trying to make the Gospel digestible
    instead of transformational.

    The Bible is true.
    Let every trending opinion be a liar.

    If I were to express it logically:

    If Christian → you are salt + light.
    If light → shine.
    If salt → season.
    Therefore, it’s impossible to be politically correct and spiritually connected at the same time.

    The fruit of the Spirit isn’t optional produce. It is proof. Evidence (cue music)
    The works of the flesh aren’t random flaws. They are red flags.

    So as we Go(ye) into another week :
    a little less filtered,
    a little more faithful

    ✨ What are you reflecting?
    The Works of the Flesh or the Fruit of the Spirit? 🍇✨

    💬 Who are you reflecting?

    💡Please drop a comment if this stirred something in your spirit.

    #FaithUnfiltered #WriteThingReflections #SpiritOverStatus #SaltAndLight
    #GoYe #EloquentFaith #YouniqueVoice #FruitOrFlesh
    #NotPoliticallyCorrectSpirituallyConnected #ChristianReflections

  • 🌱 A Career Is not Always Linear: A Tribute to the Class of 2025

    🌱 A Career Is not Always Linear: A Tribute to the Class of 2025

    Sometimes, our paths choose us

    I was at Dreamforce 2025, and the energy in the room was absolutely contagious. Everywhere I turned, someone was demo-ing something: ideas, innovations, intentions. A huge lesson I learned in my sales career is that everyone of us sells something, and Dreamforce was no different.

    Everyone was selling something… but what struck Mee most wasn’t the sales pitch; it was the spark behind it. As I watched and listened, I paused mid-awe to ask myself,

    “What am I even doing in this room?”

    Then I smiled and chuckled quietly as the realization hit Mee:

    👉🏽 A career is not always linear.

    👉🏽 Sometimes, our paths choose us (and drag us along until we catch up).

    As I reflected on my 26-year journey, my mind played back the many steps, stops, stumbles, and souls who helped Mee get here. Like many others, my path hasn’t been straight. Heck, when you add the breaks in between, it’s been deliciously twisted, beautifully tortuous, and stubbornly mine.

    I started off in medical school, chasing the childhood dream of becoming a medical doctor with a specialization in psychiatry. But soon, I realized the dream wasn’t just about the “medicine”, it was about the healing. Healing hearts, minds, and sometimes, mindsets. So I recalibrated my compass and pivoted into Psychology, where I could dive into what makes us tick, think, and sometimes blink twice before reacting.

    That pivot taught Mee more than any textbook ever could. It built my resilience and gave Mee permission to fail forward, to fall down and still stand tall in my own version of success.

    As I listened to the Dreamforce keynotes, I wondered if that little girl who once wanted to wear a white coat and stethoscope would recognize the woman now wrapped in curiosity, creativity, and cloud computing. My mind flooded with flashes of faces: Mentors, Managers, FrIENDS, and anyMees who helped shape this journey.

    Then, my thoughts drifted to my 16-year-old son, proudly part of the Class of 2025. I wondered what lies ahead for him. When I graduated, there was no Google (just good ol’ intuition and guesswork). So I laughed at myself. Trying to imagine his future is like trying to download tomorrow’s update today. #Times #Seasons #Ceasings

    As the Salesforce Ohana celebrates the launch of Agentforce, I can only hope his future is bright, bold, and beautifully unpredictable. More than anything, I pray he learns to enjoy the journey, to pivot with purpose, and to adapt to every new version of life’s “operating system.”

    Finally, my deepest Gratitude to the leaders, lifters, and listeners who’ve guided Mee through my many reboots and reinventions. Someday, I’ll go into the full deTALEs of their impacts, but today, I’m simply thankful our paths intersected in the right place, at the right time.

    Here’s to the Class of 2025, and to all of us still learning, unlearning, and re-becoming. 💫

    #CareerJourney #Dreamforce2025 #ClassOf2025 #Gratitude #NonLinearCareers #LifelongLearning #FailForward #PivotWithPurpose

  • The Subtle Stings of Exclusion

    On World Mental Health Day and the quiet loneliness of being left out

    Friday, 10 October, was World Mental Health Day.

    I’ve had this date etched somewhere deep in my subconscious since 2005, the year I began working with an NGO focused on mental health advocacy.

    This year, as I reflected, I was reminded of how the smallest acts of connection, or disconnection, can shape our emotional wellbeing. As we begin the countdown to the 2026 anniversary of World Mental Health Day, I thought to sh-AIR my thoughts.

    A few weeks ago, a friend mentioned she was having a family over for lunch — a couple we both knew. She’d told me about similar gatherings before, and once even picked me up to go shopping with her in preparation. I happily tagged along, choosing napkins and treats for people I wouldn’t meet.

    You see, I would have loved to be included in any of those lunches. We were/are all friends, and we are/were pretty close, from my standpoint. I also assumed they enjoyed my company because our conversations were frequent and warm. So it took Mee by surprise that the thought of inviting me never crossed her mind.

    And because concealed wounds fester, and feelings can’t be trusted, I decided to speak up: gently, and in love…

    “Speaking the truth in love” I asked her, half-joking, half-aching:

    “Why didn’t you think I liked food enough to come over for an actual lunch?”

    She blinked and stuttered, and I could see the moment the realization hit her face, before words could.

    “Oh, why not! You can come tomorrow,” she said quickly. “Join the XYZ family!”

    I smiled and said, “Thanks… but no, thank you.”

    As much as I genuinely appreciated the come-back, I declined the invite because the issue wasn’t lunch. It was belonging.

    As a single, never-been-married adult without kids, I’ve seen this pattern play out over and over.

    Friends don’t mean to exclude, but bias often hides in “harmless” assumptions:
    “She wouldn’t fit in, it’s just families.”
    “She’d be the only single one.”
    “She might feel awkward.”

    But hey, adults (parents) show up for kid parties all the time. We buy the gifts, eat the cake, clap for the games, watch the kids. So why can’t singles (never-married, with no-kids) be included when the grownups gather too?

    The barren1 woman, the single woman, the widowed man: they’re often left outside the social structures that once held them. The divorced and separated ones sometimes get a pass, because they were once “in,” and thus still “qualify.” And yet, we all need the same thing: connection.

    But I digress…

    We can exonerate individuals for their unintended biases, but if any place should model belonging, it should be the church.

    But even there, single adults often slip between the cracks. Too old for the “young adults,” too unmarried for the “men’s” or “women’s fellowships.” Who’s fault is it anyway that an accomplished professional is still single? The silent judgment is everywhere. So much for the church being a safe haven.

    In 2018, with a little nudge from my therapist, I decided to stop waiting to be included.
    I created a small group for my unmarried-at-the-time female friends. I figured, if this need to belong exists in Mee, it must exist in someone else too.

    It did, based on feedback …and by my standards : )

    The group flourished. There was so much laughter, healing, honesty, and friendship.

    By 2020, following another mental health episode (deTALEs later), I created a co-ed group for single adults of all kinds: separated, divorced, widowed, never-married.

    This year, we decided to scale.
    We launched an app to bring single adults together; not for dating (though love stories are welcome), but for connection. For community.

    Because belonging shouldn’t be a privilege reserved for couples or parents.
    It’s a human need; a mental health need.

    And maybe, just maybe, the next time someone’s left off a guest list,
    we’ll pause long enough to ask: “Who else might need a seat at this table?”

    As we move through another year past World Mental Health Day, I invite you to pause and notice who’s missing from your table, and why.

    Belonging begins with awareness, but it grows through intention.

    💬 I’d love to hear your experiences.

    • Have you ever felt quietly excluded?
    • Or learned to include differently?

    Please sh-AIR in the comments; your story might just help someone feel seen.

    Leave a comment

    1

    https://uberbarrens.club/blog/metrobarren

    https://metro.co.uk/2019/07/31/women-reclaiming-word-barren-talk-fertility-issues-10284278/

    https://www.sknvibes.com/news/newsdetails.cfm/18742

  • MoYounique

    Bookmarking my old blog here

  • Day Zero

    It’s July 1st 2025. Canada Day. Official start of Q3.

    First day of the 2nd half of 2025 – depending on who’s counting and how they count. It’s been a fortnight now that post-Covid-Mee made what I’d call a daredevil attempt to air the cobwebs of my beautiful mind out here in public, in the full glare of my anyMees.

    AnyMees. I’m not certain what that stands for, considering all the puns and double entendres that characterize the write-thing, I can only speak to the fact that I am “Mee”.

    I digress…

    I’m still struggling to build a rhythm here. And as silly as that sounds (or reads), I’m struggling because a part of Mee is trying hard to mask the write-thing behind a cloak of anonymity. Please don’t ask why, ‘cos I’m not quite sure why I’m inclined to do so. I have my suspicions though, but I also happen to know that it is not easy to be naked and not ashamed, the first time.

    Make of that what you may.

    a-Gain, in an uncharacteristic daredevil manner, I’m struggling to write freely here : )

    Sigh!

    Now that we’ve gotten that lengthy preamble out of the way, lets get to busy-ness.

    “Day zero” is all about firsts. It marks the beginning of a recruit’s journey through Basic Training (boot camp) and the start of new skills and friendships that can last a lifetime.

    So, my dear friends, …

    “Welcome to Day Zero – the start of new skills and friendships that can last a lifetime.“

Behind The Scenes

Musings from a beautiful mind

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